


The Dinner Date

by SuburbanSun



Category: Roswell New Mexico (TV 2019)
Genre: 12 Days of Malex, Basically Reverse Fake Dating, Fluff, Formalwear, M/M, Slow Dancing, Trope Subversion, alex is an unreliable narrator
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-05
Updated: 2019-12-05
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:08:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21677275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SuburbanSun/pseuds/SuburbanSun
Summary: When Michael needs a date to one of Isobel’s fancy events, Alex comes to the rescue. They’re just friends, after all, so what could go wrong?
Relationships: Michael Guerin/Alex Manes
Comments: 40
Kudos: 219
Collections: 12 Days Of Malex 2019





	The Dinner Date

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lostin_space](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lostin_space/gifts).



> Happy 12 Days of Malex, Alyssa! Hope you like it! :-)

“What’s the big deal, Iz?” Michael’s voice echoes up to the entrance of the bunker, reaching Alex as he starts to climb down the ladder. A second later, Alex can see why, as he catches a glimpse of Michael shouting into his speakerphone while his hands are busy making notes in a dog-eared notebook. “It’s just some old broad’s party.”

Alex stifles a laugh at Isobel’s haughty scoff. He steps down from the ladder and catches Michael’s eye, who nods hello. 

“It’s Millicent Trumbull’s 80th birthday, and you’ll be lucky if you live that long.” Even across the airwaves, her voice is pure ice. 

Michael scratches a calculation on the page in front of him, then tucks the pencil between his teeth. “Well, technically…” he says around it.

“Oh, please; enough,” Isobel says.

Alex sets his bag down and pulls out a thick stack of files, settling on a stool and opening one to the first page. He’s been working out of Michael’s bunker more and more often over the past few months. It started while they were still working day and night to bring Max back. Then, after one of Liz’s plans finally succeeded, it just sort of… stuck. In any case, it’s cozier than the Project Shepherd bunker, and holds fewer bad memories. Alex feels oddly at ease there, in stark contrast to the way the old case files full of atrocities in front of him make him feel. 

“...course it matters.” The connection underground is mediocre at best, but Isobel’s irritation is crystal clear. “Evans Events is barely off the ground, and the Trumbulls know all the wealthiest families in Roswell. If this goes well, I have a real business on my hands. And if it doesn’t…” Her voice holds the edge of a threat. 

Clearly unthreatened, Michael rolls his eyes, picking up the phone from where it rests on his notebook and turning to face Alex across the work table in the center of the bunker. He sets the phone down between them and leans heavily on both elbows to speak into it. “I know, I know— you’re out on the streets, a poor, destitute widow with no place to go.” He meets Alex’s gaze, a spark of mirth in his eyes, and Alex suppresses a chuckle with his hand. “I’ve heard this sob story a coupla times already.” 

Alex knows Michael doesn’t mean it, that he’d do anything to help Isobel cope in the wake of everything that went on with Noah. But he’s also seen how much better she’s been doing lately, and he thinks part of that resilience comes from not being treated with kid gloves. Isobel can take it, and she can give it right back.

“Look, I don’t really care who you bring,” she snaps over the phone. “Invite one of your former conquests, invite one of your pitifully few friends, whatever. As long as his or her cute butt is taking up the seat next to yours and helping ensure Millicent Trumbull has the most well-attended backyard garden party in Roswell history, I don’t particularly care.” The phone beeps, and the screen goes black. She’s hung up.

Alex tries to focus on the files in front of him, but it’s not long before he’s peering up at Michael across the countertop. He quirks an eyebrow in question.

“It’s just this party thing,” Michael says, pushing off the edge of the counter with both hands. “It’s her first big event under the umbrella of the new business, and she’s afraid nobody’s gonna come.” 

“Everybody in Roswell knows Isobel puts on great events, though.” 

Michael shrugs, then tucks the pencil he’s been fiddling with behind his ear. It draws Alex’s eyes to a stray curl at Michael’s temple, which he then dutifully ignores. 

“She just wants this one to be perfect.” 

Alex smirks. “So she wants you there, because…?”

“My point exactly. But the old biddies need someone to gossip about, I guess.” 

Alex nods, and idly ruffles the edges of the pages in his hand with one thumb. He’s thinking about Isobel’s other demand, though he’s not sure if he should bring it up. Still, Michael kept her on speakerphone even knowing Alex was there. He clears his throat. 

“‘Invite a former conquest or one of your few friends’?” 

Michael huffs out a sardonic laugh, turning back to what he’d been working on. “She’s nothing if not supportive, huh?” Alex watches as Michael pulls the pencil from behind his ear and writes something in his notebook, the muscles of his back tense beneath his navy sweater. “She just needs warm bodies is all,” he mutters. “More people to fill out the crowd and make her look good.”

“What about Max and Liz?” 

“Oh, they already got roped into this circus,” Michael answers, looking back over his shoulder at Alex with a smug grin. “I think Max has been promised to Ms. Trumbull for at _least_ a slow-dance, maybe more.” 

“But she still needs more people to go?” Alex isn’t sure why he’s fixated on Isobel’s predicament— except that she’s kind of made it Michael’s predicament, hasn’t she? And he and Michael have become friends in recent months, real friends, and friends help each other out, don’t they?

Michael shrugs, turning back around to face Alex, and leans back against the countertop behind him. He’s all lean lines and casual swagger, and Alex very carefully doesn’t let his gaze drift from Michael’s face. “Glorified seat-fillers.”

Alex swallows, bends the corner of the file folder in his hand back and forth until there’s a neat crease, and says, “I could go with you.” 

The bunker is quiet for a moment that stretches just a little bit too long, and then Michael shakes his head. “Nah, you don’t gotta do that.” His voice sounds tight, and he clears his throat before continuing. “Iz’ll live if her seating chart’s unbalanced.”

“Tell me she’s not going to bite your head off if you show up alone,” Alex says sensibly, both eyebrows raised. He knows he’s right, and apparently Michael does, too, because he just heaves a sigh. 

“It’s, like, a formalwear and five-course meal kinda thing,” he says, waving a hand in the air dismissively. 

“So? I do own a suit, Guerin.”

Michael’s brow is furrowed, his tongue working at the inside of his cheek while he considers the idea. Alex doesn’t know why, but he feels oddly nervous as he waits for the answer. 

“Unless—” he begins, then clears his throat. “Unless you had someone else you were planning to invite.” 

Michael shakes his head, his expression still hesitant. “Nah. Was just gonna go long enough to show my face, then head back to the trailer for the night.”

It’s a relief, though it has no right to be. Michael can spend time with whomever he wants. The two of them are only friends, after all.

“Won’t it make Isobel happier if you stay the whole time and bring someone with you like she asked?” It’s only logical, Alex reasons. He’s seen Isobel when she’s truly angry, and he’d hate for Michael to be on the receiving end. 

Michael scoffs. “Asked?”

“Fine; demanded.”

Michael’s been leaning back against the counter with both hands gripping the ledge, but pushes off to take a half-step toward Alex. “You’d do that?”

Setting down the folders of paper, now disheveled, in front of him, Alex shrugs one shoulder. There’s a flutter of anticipation in his gut, which he does his best to push aside. “What are friends for?"

Alex has one hand on the steering wheel, the other idly fussing with the knot in his tie, as he pulls into the gravel parking lot of the historic house where the party’s being held. He scans the lot for Michael’s truck, but doesn’t see it yet. 

Michael had offered to pick him up at the cabin, but Alex suggested they meet at the venue, and now he’s glad that he did. This way, he has a few extra minutes to steady himself before heading inside. And this way, he has an easy escape plan on the off-chance that sitting next to Michael Guerin in formalwear becomes too much for him. 

It’s something he’s trying to learn to accept—that if he wants Michael in his life, it’s going to have to be just as friends. And he _does_ want Michael in his life, always. He knows what it feels like to lose him, and he knows he can’t do that again. He’ll take him any way he can.

He hears the familiar rumble of an engine behind him, and then Michael’s truck is pulling into the parking space to his left. For a moment, Alex keeps both hands on the wheel and reminds himself that this was his idea, an idea that will help out a friend, and that everything will be fine.

He opens the door to his SUV and slides out before he can second guess himself.

“You clean up nice,” Michael drawls as he watches Alex over the bed of his truck. He leans both elbows on the side of it, so Alex can’t yet get a good look at what he’s wearing. Does Michael Guerin even own formalwear? 

“I figured Isobel would want us to pull out all the stops,” Alex says, then locks his door and carefully circles the truck, his dress shoes crunching on the gravel with each step. When he gets around to the other side, he can’t stop himself from giving Michael a once-over. “You’re one to talk,” he says with a raise of his eyebrows. 

Michael shrugs. “Iz has always insisted I own at least one suit. Told her I didn’t have room for it, but there’s no reasoning with her sometimes.” 

Alex takes him in. The gray suit doesn’t fit him perfectly, like it was bought a few years ago— the jacket is just a shade too snug now— but seeing him in it for the first time is like a shock to the system. Alex’s mouth feels a little dry, and he just nods. 

“You about ready to enter the Thunderdome?” Michael asks, gesturing toward the house, where a few guests Alex doesn’t recognize are walking up the porch steps. Then, he leans in closer, his voice low and intimately familiar as he adds, “You could still back out now, if you want to. I won’t hold it against you.”

Truthfully, a part of him _does_ want to back out. A part of him wants to get back in the car and drive back to the cabin and spend his Saturday night alone with his dog and a six pack of beer, as he’d originally planned. And admittedly, a part of him wants to grab hold of Michael’s tie and crowd him up against the sideboard of his truck and kiss him until morning, but he quickly locks that thought away. Alex is nothing if not good at compartmentalization.

He meets Michael’s gaze and shakes his head. “It’s like you said. It’s just some old woman’s party. It’ll be fine.” 

Michael watches him for a long moment, then nods and murmurs a soft, “Okay. Let’s do this.” 

The walk from the parking lot to the venue is quiet and relatively comfortable. That’s something Alex has noticed in the weeks and months since he and Michael started spending more time together as friends: they’re able to just be quiet with each other. He assumes he can attribute it to all the hours spent down in Michael’s bunker, working on projects together or separately without really needing to speak. They’d never been that good at talking, anyway. 

“After you,” Michael says when they reach the steps of the wraparound porch, and Alex leads the way.

Once inside, a waiter offers them a tray of champagne. Alex politely takes two flutes, passing one to Michael, and is about to take a sip, when—

“ _There_ you are.” 

Isobel appears as if she’s been summoned, crossing her arms and tilting her head to the side to glare at Michael. She doesn’t even seem to notice Alex at first, but when she does, her eyes widen. 

“What? You said 8, and it’s 8,” Michael says. 

“It’s 8:05,” she retorts without taking her eyes off Alex. “And you have to be fashionable to be fashionably late. Michael? When did this happen?”

Alex shoots a look at Michael in time to see him frown. “When did what happen?” 

Isobel narrows her eyes, finally looking back at her brother. “This,” she says, with a nod toward Alex. “The two of you. I thought—”

“We’re not—” Alex begins, because she clearly has the wrong idea, and he’d like to avoid as much awkwardness as he can tonight, thank you very much. “I overheard you asking Michael to bring a friend tonight, and… we’re friends. So I offered to come.” 

She raises an eyebrow at Michael and for a long moment, Alex wonders if they’re communicating telepathically. He knows they’ve been working on strengthening their abilities, but he’d hoped that wouldn’t result in them talking about him behind his back while in front of his face. He shifts his weight onto his good leg and fights the urge to sneak out the way they came. 

“So… Michael brought a friend,” she says at last, looking back at Alex with a curiously knowing smirk on her face. “Isn’t that something.”

Michael rolls his eyes. “Hey, I did exactly what you told me to do.” 

“You did, didn’t you?” She grins, then reaches up to fix one of his curls. “Okay. You two _friends_ go have fun. Don’t do anything too friendly.” She turns on her heel, pausing only to look Michael up and down over her shoulder and add, “Next week, we’re getting you a new suit,” before she disappears through a doorway.

Alex takes a long sip of his champagne to give himself a moment. “What was that about?” 

“I don’t think it’s _that_ bad,” Michael mutters, looking down at himself. He tugs at his tie, loosening it enough that Alex can almost see his collarbone peeking out from beneath his collar, and grimaces. 

“It’s— you look fine, Guerin. You look— nice.” The words sound fairly pathetic to Alex’s ears, but when Michael looks up, his eyes are bright. Alex clears his throat. “Let’s go find our table.”

It takes some searching to find it. Isobel has clearly relegated her seat-fillers to the back, and they weave their way through the lush, covered garden to the table closest to the low wall encircling the perimeter. When they reach the table, Max and Liz have already arrived. Liz is in conversation with an elderly man seated at the next table over while Max looks around like he isn’t quite sure why he’s there.

“Hey,” he says when he spots them, his face lighting up in a smile. “I told Isobel you’d show.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Michael says as he scoots around the table to the only open seats left.

With a shake of his head, Max turns his attention to Alex, and looks as surprised as Isobel had. “Oh, hey, Manes. Isobel didn’t mention you were coming.” 

“She didn’t know,” he answers, sliding into the chair beside Michael. 

“He came with me,” Michael adds, and Alex feels his pulse quicken, even though he knows Michael didn’t mean it like _that_. 

“Well, not _with_ him,” he rushes to say. “Not—Isobel asked him to bring a friend, so. Here I am.” 

Max appears befuddled, but after looking back and forth between Michael and Alex a few times, just shrugs and takes a sip of his champagne, sliding an arm around the back of Liz’s chair.

“Watch out,” Michael says, his voice low as he angles his face toward Alex. “Somebody at Table 10 might not have heard we’re here as friends.” Alex furrows his brow, but when he meets Michael’s gaze, one corner of his mouth is tilted up in a rueful smile. Almost like he’s teasing, but not quite. Alex doesn’t know what to do with it. He huffs, setting his napkin in his lap. 

“Well, we are.”

“Don’t I know it. But how ‘bout the old geezer at Table 7? Might want to let him know.” 

Alex just rolls his eyes, and is about to retort, when Liz notices them.

“Alex!” She beams at him. “To what do we owe the pleasure?” Her eyes dart over to Michael. “Did you two come together?”

“Geez, can a guy not bring a friend to a stranger’s birthday party without getting the third degree?” Michael lets his head fall back in mock frustration. “Please, Ortecho, you’re gonna give me a complex.” 

She holds up both hands placatingly. “Okay, okay, Mikey. I’m glad you and Alex could come as friends.” Alex narrows his eyes at what sounds like verbal air-quotes around the word ‘friends,’ but when Liz continues, he lets it slide. “Actually, this is perfect. Max is promised to the birthday girl for a few dances, so now I have more options for _my_ dance partner!” 

Michael groans, but before he can argue with her, a waiter appears to set the first course in front of them. 

“Looks delicious,” Alex says, reaching for the appropriate fork. They eat in silence for a few moments, and Alex is pleased to find out that the food is indeed delicious-- though he’d expect nothing less from one of Isobel’s events. Swallowing, he reaches for his water glass at the same time that Michael reaches over for a roll from the bread basket that sits in the middle of the table. The back of Michael’s hand brushes against the outside of Alex’s wrist, and Alex nearly fumbles his grip on the glass. Michael clears his throat and pulls his hand back without a roll. Alex just takes a gulp of water, suddenly very thirsty.

“So, Max,” Michael begins. “Catch any bad guys lately? Save any kittens from trees?”

Max gives Michael a practiced glare. “That’s firefighters, not deputies.” 

“Are you saying if you came across a tiny, defenseless kitten trapped in a tree you’d stroll right by?” He turns his mock-outrage to Liz. “Are you hearing this? Because I can’t believe it, myself.”

Alex isn’t sure why Michael suddenly cares so much about the well-being of Roswell’s kitten population, but he’s glad to have a moment to collect himself. A simple brush of skin against skin shouldn’t throw him off balance like that. It can’t.

“What can I say,” Liz says with a solemn shake of her head. “He’s pure, unbridled evil.”

“Hey, you said it, not me,” Michael says. 

The rest of dinner is much the same: Michael and Max bicker, Liz laughs at their antics, and Alex wonders why he thought this was a good idea at all. He knows he’s quieter than usual, but he can’t help it. He’s afraid that anything he says will give away how much being in a setting like this with Michael is affecting him. 

“You okay?” Michael asks while Max is telling a story to Liz. His voice is low, his face angled toward Alex. If he leaned just a few inches to the right, he thinks he’d be able to feel the warmth of Michael’s breath on his cheek. 

He puts on a mild expression, leans imperceptibly in the opposite direction, and nods. “Of course. The salmon was delicious.” 

Michael looks suspicious, but sits back in his chair. “Yep. Tasty.” 

He looks as if he’s about to say something else when a waiter appears with the dessert course—some kind of dark chocolate mousse in a delicate glass chalice, topped with an artful dollop of creme fraiche. 

“You want my whipped cream?” Michael asks, already scooping it from the top of his dessert with his spoon and offering it to Alex as if it were the most normal thing to do in the world. Maybe in another life, it could have been.

Alex shrugs, and Michael carefully spoons it onto Alex’s mousse. “You don’t like whipped cream?” 

“I like it fine, but you always get extra on your shakes at the Crashdown. Figured that’d extend to fancy chocolate pudding, too.” 

Alex furrows his brow. They’ve eaten at the Crashdown together a few times recently, but he doesn’t think they ordered milkshakes, just standard burgers and fries after a long afternoon of research. How does Michael remember that? And why does it make Alex’s chest tighten to know that he does? 

“Come on, Evans,” Liz says before he can give it much more thought, standing and hauling Max up by his elbow. “We’re sneaking in a dance before your intended comes over and steals you away.” 

Max laughs, nodding his agreement. “Alright, I’m all yours ‘til Millicent wants to have her wicked way with me.” 

Liz wrinkles her nose. “Gross,” she says, then leads him onto the dance floor, leaving Michael and Alex alone at the table together. The silence that had seemed so comfortable earlier in the evening now feels tense, charged-- at least, it does to Alex. He wonders if Michael feels it, too, or anything at all.

A white-haired woman with a patterned shawl draped over her shoulders shuffles up to their table, and Alex is almost relieved when she lowers herself down into Max’s vacated seat. 

“Now, how do you two know Millie?” she asks, her voice sandpaper-rough, her eyes kind.

Michael glances at Alex, and mischief gleams in his gaze. “Oh, Millie and me, we go way back. Used to be bridge partners, but I just couldn’t keep up with her, that tricky minx.” He shoots Alex another look, smirking. “Ma’am.” Alex can’t help but chuckle. 

“Come again?” the old woman asks. Michael frowns.

“We were bridge partners,” he says louder, and this time, she nods, before gesturing with a shaky hand between the two of them.

“And how long have the two of you been together? You make such a cute couple.” 

Alex feels his cheeks heat up. He knows why Isobel and Max and Liz had read something deeper into their attending the party together, but is he really going to have to explain himself to a stranger, too? But Michael isn’t speaking up, so…

“Actually, we’re just friends, ma’am,” Alex says. 

“What’s that?” 

“We’re not—we’re just friends. We’re not together.” 

She frowns, the deep lines that circle her mouth growing deeper, and she waves a hand vaguely around one ear. “My hearing’s not what it used to be, dear. Speak up.” 

Alex sucks in a breath, about to bring out his best booming Captain’s voice, when Michael, who’s seated closer to her, beats him to it.

“About eleven years. Depending how you look at it,” he says, his gaze focused squarely on the woman across the table.

Eyebrows raised, Alex glances at him out of the corner of his eye, almost like he can’t bring himself to look at him fully. Michael just gives a little shrug. 

The woman smiles indulgently. “Eleven years! That’s special. I remember when Darren and I celebrated our eleventh anniversary…” As she begins to reminisce, Alex folds his napkin into a neat rectangle and sets it on the table. 

“I’m going to find the restroom,” he whispers, inclining his head toward Michael without meeting his eyes. 

“Are you-- it just seemed like the simplest answer.” He can hear the frown in Michael’s voice, and shakes his head as he stands.

“It’s fine. I’m just going to use the restroom, that’s all.” Before Michael can say anything else, he circles the table and slips into the hallway, a tightness in his chest that doesn’t seem like it’s going to go away. He keeps his head down and holds his breath until he’s safely in the hall bathroom, the door locked behind him, then lets out a huge exhale.

The space is small, just large enough for a toilet and a vanity. Alex twists both crystal knobs to turn on the water, then adjusts them until it’s cold. Only then does he look in the mirror.

He tries to school his expression into one that’s calm and collected, and when that doesn’t work, he bends down and splashes cold water over his cheeks, careful not to get his suit jacket or shirt wet. When he stands back up to look at his reflection again, he looks marginally calmer, and much wetter.

“Just get through tonight,” he mutters. He realizes now what a bad idea this had been, thinking he could spend an evening in an environment like this by Michael’s side and keep his emotions in check. But he can’t, and he knows that he _has_ to if he wants to keep Michael in his life. _Just get through tonight_ , he thinks. If he can just get through the night without letting his feelings show, maybe he can keep Michael’s friendship. Maybe that will be enough.

It has to be enough.

He practices his breathing for several long seconds, then turns off the tap and unlocks the bathroom door. He’s already made it past dessert, and it’s not like Michael’s going to want to stick around to dance. He can do this. Can’t he?

_Just make it through tonight._

As he makes his way back to the table, he spots Max dancing cheek to cheek with a beaming woman who must be Millicent, and it almost makes him crack a smile. Liz is pulling the older man she was talking to earlier onto the dance floor, and Michael is still seated where Alex left him, looking at sea.

Alex takes a deep breath, then strides back over to the table.

“Oh, hey,” Michael says, sitting up straighter as Alex retakes his seat. “Ah—you find the bathroom okay?” 

“Yeah, Guerin, I managed.” 

“That’s good.” 

For a long moment, they sit side by side in silence. Alex sips his water, then smooths out a wrinkle in the fabric of the tablecloth with his palm. He’s wondering how much longer they’re obligated to stay, when Michael speaks up, shifting suddenly in his chair to face Alex.

“Hey, I wanted to-- you don’t have to, but…” His brows knit together, and Alex frowns.

“What is it?” 

Michael’s face is all hope and longing, and Alex feels like they’re both seventeen again when he says, “Dance with me?” 

When he doesn’t answer at first, Michael moves to turn away, but something about the look in his eyes makes Alex feel brave. He reaches out to stop Michael with a light touch to his arm.

“Okay.” 

The dance floor is getting crowded, but Michael leads Alex to a secluded spot in the back corner of it just before the tables begin, and slides a hand over his hip, grasping his other in his own and beginning to sway slowly to the music. 

The garden is all lit up with glowing paper lanterns and delicate strings of light, and Alex dimly wonders at what a romantic picture they make, moving together in the soft lighting. It’s something he’d secretly, selfishly wanted to do with Michael, but had never had the chance. 

“We’ve never actually danced together, have we?” Michael asks, as if he can read his thoughts, and the closeness of his voice makes Alex want to shiver.

“You sound surprised,” he says instead.

Michael shrugs, and Alex takes the opportunity to slide his hand tighter around Michael’s shoulder to the back of his neck, his fingers just brushing the curls there. He knows this is something he might only get to do once, and he’s not sure he’s capable of stopping himself from taking just a little bit of what he wants.

“Guess it’s surprising to me.”

Alex leans back just enough to make a disbelieving face at Michael. “There are a lot of things we haven't done, Guerin.” Michael raises his eyebrows, his tongue peeking out the corner of his mouth, and Alex rolls his eyes and tries to look disapproving. “Okay, there are a lot of things we’ve never done _outside of the bedroom_.” 

Michael nods thoughtfully, then pulls Alex the tiniest bit closer, his palm warm on his hip. “Well,” he begins, puffing out a breath that tickles the skin at Alex’s throat. “Maybe that just means we’ve got a lot of lost time to make up for.” 

_What?_ Alex swallows thickly, furrowing his brow, and takes a moment before he asks, “What are you saying?” 

“We’d never danced together ‘til now, but this one seems to be going alright. I mean, I haven’t stepped on your toes, or crashed us into any waiters or anything, at least.”

“We’re really just swaying more than dancing,” Alex argues, though he’s not entirely sure why. He’s not entirely sure of anything at the moment. He wants to laugh at the sheer absurdity of the situation.

“Alex.” Michael’s tone is almost pleading, and it sobers Alex right up. 

“Okay. Right. It’s going fine. It’s going well.” 

“So,” Michael starts, casting his gaze downward, like he’s watching his feet to make sure things keep going fine, to make sure he doesn’t actually step on Alex’s toes after all, to make sure he doesn’t screw anything up for good. “So, if we can handle a dance, maybe we can handle trying a few other things we haven’t tried before.” He sucks in a breath, then looks up to meet Alex’s gaze. “Like… going on an actual date. Since this doesn’t really count.” 

Alex feels like his heart is going to beat out of his chest. He feels like maybe he’ll let it. “But I thought—we’re here as friends. You made that pretty clear.” 

Michael rolls his eyes. “No, _you_ made that clear. Alex, I’ve been trying to turn this into a date all night.”

Adrenaline is zipping through Alex’s veins, and he has to take a breath before he can speak. “You’ve-- what?”

“I offered to pick you up. I pulled out your chair, for God’s sake.” He lets go of Alex’s hip for just long enough to run a frustrated hand through his curls before letting it drift around to the small of Alex’s back. His voice is softer and more plaintive when he speaks again. “I asked you to slow-dance with me.” 

Has Alex just been so preoccupied with keeping his feelings in check that he hasn’t noticed that Michael has been trying and failing to do the same? Is it actually possible that he missed all the signs? 

He thinks back to the way they’ve pushed and pulled and danced around each other for more than eleven years, and has to admit to himself that yes, it’s very possible.

He lets out a shaky sigh, his hand tightening involuntarily around the back of Michael’s neck. “To be fair, this has kind of felt like a date to me all night. Dinner, dancing... ” 

Michael laughs, just a relieved chuckle, and pulls Alex closer. “Now what’re _you_ saying?”

“That maybe… maybe we should be planning a _second_ date instead of a first.” He licks his lips and shrugs. “Less pressure that way, anyway.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah.” 

“If you mean it…”

Alex has never meant anything more. “I do.” 

“Then I’ve got one question for you,” Michael replies, his head tilted back so he can see Alex fully with dark, hooded eyes. 

“What’s that?”

He smirks. “Do you kiss on the first date?” 

“Oh, I think we’re way past that,” Alex says, feeling lighter than he has in months—or maybe since he was seventeen—as he slides his hand up into Michael’s curls and pulls him down into a kiss. 

As they continue to sway in a darkened corner of the garden, trading soft kisses like the night might never come to an end, Alex makes a mental note in the part of his brain still capable of rational thought that he owes Millicent Trumbull the biggest, best birthday gift he can find.

**Author's Note:**

> Want to hang out on tumblr? I'm [unbreakablejemmasimmons](http://unbreakablejemmasimmons.tumblr.com) over there!


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